


A Spoiled Little Prince

by quietprofanity



Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-21
Updated: 2011-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-18 10:53:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietprofanity/pseuds/quietprofanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian and John alone in Brian’s house. PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Spoiled Little Prince

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Homophobia/bigotry.

Brian would never have allowed this – even in his own home – if the servants weren’t away, the doors weren’t locked, and the curtains weren’t closed. But they were, and so he did.

In the dim light of his drawing room, still dressed in a professional albeit rumpled suit, Brian crawled on all fours, his eyes full of longing as John sat on the couch. John was shirtless, and smiling. His manner reminded Brian of a spoiled little prince, or a grubby little boy playing one as he sat in his treehouse.

"So," John said. "You want me to fuck you? Show me how badly."

Brian crawled another inch forward, outstretched his hand to rest upon John's leg as it hung over the sofa. He knew he shouldn't be doing this. The unprofessionalism of it alone was beyond reproach. And then there was the fact that it was John. The man could cut him into pieces not only easily, but gleefully, and Brian was handing him everything.

But oh Lord, how could he not? Brian may have been John’s manager, may have been able to stop this at any moment, but looking up at John’s face – the dark eyes beneath the auburn fringe that invited him in even as the lips curled and mocked him – he felt like little more than a puppet.

Brian kissed John's feet slowly and reverently, letting each kiss linger on the tops of his feet and his toes, wrapping his hands around John's ankles.

John's only response to this show of devotion was to laugh.

"So this is what you like?" John asked. "You order us around all day and then you want to be told what to do?" John shook his head.

Brian looked up at John. They'd had this conversation, or some variant of it, before. John had tormented him with this fact many times. Yet he couldn't answer John, not when his cock was already hard, not when John's tormenting already urged him further.

John leaned closer to him, so close Brian could smell the tobacco on his breath. Suddenly, John grabbed Brian's hair and yanked hard enough to bend Brian's neck back, hard enough to hurt. Then John kissed him until he couldn't breathe.

Brian had returned the kiss as best he could, but the kiss had frozen him, his body so gratified at having gotten what it wanted it could no longer remember how to move. Then just as suddenly as John had begun it John pulled Brian away, pushed him back onto the floor again and laid one of the feet Brian had been so eagerly kissing a moment ago on Brian's chest.

"Now," John said, digging in his heel, "Suck my cock."

Brian struggled for breath against the pressure. Yet as John removed his foot Brian scrambled to his knees. John bucked his hips off the couch, arching his back as he undid the button on his trousers and pulled them down. He was already hard, and Brian couldn’t help himself. He reached out to touch him, his hands running along John’s waist. John grabbed hold of Brian’s wrists.

John’s grip was strong. It was painful. Brian was almost ready to make John stop but it felt so good, _so right_. Brian’s face flushed with shame as he could feel the precome drip from his cock. _Yes_ , he thought, _give me what I deserve_.

If he had been with any other man, if he were down on the docks with some teddy boy, that would have been what would have happened next: the crack of the hand across his face, the precursor to humiliation. Instead, John smiled wickedly.

“Ah-ah-ah.” He raised one of Brian’s hands to his mouth, bared his teeth over his index finger like he was set to bite it off. “Keep them where I can see them.”

John placed one of Brian’s hands on his cock, and Brian felt a jolt run through him. He was in a daze until John squeezed Brian’s other hand, urging him along. Brian bent his head down into John’s lap and began to suck, his lips gripping eagerly onto the soft skin of John’s cock.

The effect on John was almost immediate. Freed from John’s grip, Brian could feel John’s entire body relax, lean into the sex act. John stayed like that for a while, moaning softly as Brian worked on him. It pleased Brian, but John was never one to be content for more than a few minutes at a time. The small, satisfied noises became irritated grunts. At one point he ran his hand along the back of Brian’s head and gripped him by the hair, thrusting up twice, hard, into his face.

“Urgh … suck harder,” John moaned. “I thought you lot were supposed to be better at this. Suck harder, you fucking queer.”

Brian obeyed, practically slobbering over John, struggling to breathe through his nose as he worked on him. He knew how undignified, how pathetic he must look like this, yet even through the shame he felt a relief. How much had he wanted this? How often had he stared at John, up on stage and half hidden by the crowd but still so sexy, so irresistible? And how many times had this very scenario been in the back of his mind as Brian had pursued him and the rest of The Beatles? Brian may have been the one to woo them, may have been the one who had what John truly needed, but Brian had meant to use everything he had to give it all away to John. He’d meant to use all his power to lose it.

John obliged him. He used Brian’s mouth roughly, grinding back into Brian’s throat, occasionally punctuating his movements with a thrust or a frustrated grunt. When he came, filling up Brian’s mouth, he came loudly, throwing back his head and letting out a cry that seemed to reverberate through his entire body in a way that shook Brian to his core with both lust and, he had to admit it, with pride.

As soon as Brian finished swallowing he pulled away. John could be notorious after they were done, and Brian could never be sure who would greet him: John, affectionate and compliant when Brian tried to touch him; John, sneering and mocking of Brian in his sad and wanting state; or John, aloof and distant, unwilling to engage with him at all. It was the last one that Brian hated the most.

Yet tonight as he leaned back against the sofa, his trousers tangled about his ankles and his eyes closed beneath his sweaty brow, John just seemed tired. After waiting for a moment, Brian felt himself coming out of his degraded state, even though his cock was still hard from all the excitement. He settled himself next to John, tried to resist the part of himself – the boring, proper manager part – that wanted to chide John for yelling so loud and potentially exhausting his voice. Indecision prevented him from going any further, however. He was so caught up in the moment of being with John like this that he barely even knew what he wanted.

Eventually John opened his eyes, revealing dark little slits behind his lashes. He panted as he turned his head toward Brian.

“Well, don’t just sit there Eppy,” John said. “Don’t you want to take care of yeself?”

Brian could feel himself flush. He made to push himself up off the couch when John pressed his arm back across Brian’s chest, holding him fast.

“No,” John said. “On the sofa. And spread your legs. I want to watch you.”

The words were almost enough to finish him. Yet he spread his legs, trying his best to hold his composure.

“All right, John,” Brian whispered through the lump in his throat.

Brian undid his trousers, adjusting himself so his bare buttocks were resting on the sofa, and then stroked himself. He did this for some time, always aware that John was watching him. At one point Brian looked over at him, and even if it wasn’t lust on John’s face that greeted him, the wicked satisfaction may have been better.

John edged closer to him, pressed his first two fingers into Brian’s mouth, making him moan.

“That’s it,” John whispered. “That’s it. Get them wet while you stroke your Jew cock, you queer.”

At any other time Brian would have bristled, but he was so wrapped up in how close he was to coming, the taste of John’s fingers in his mouth, that he just brushed off the insult. John took his fingers out.

“Lift your hips,” John said.

Brian shook his head, “Please … I can’t. Please John. Just let me be.”

“No,” John said. “I want this. Do it.”

Brian grunted, but obeyed, his back aching as he pressed himself against the couch. John reached underneath him, his fingers probing along Brian’s buttocks, and John then pushed two fingers inside.

He hadn’t done his job well enough. John’s fingers ached inside him as Brian let himself sink back on the couch, presenting all of himself to John. At first he thought that if he wasn’t already so close he would find the feeling of John stretching him open intolerable, but, as most things with him, the pain soon became part of it all. Brian wanted – needed release so badly. He let out a moan.

“Oh, that’s it,” John purred. “That’s it. Take it, you poof. Get my fingers dirty, you queer. Come for me. Come for me.”

He wasn’t sure if he could. He was so near the brink, sweating beneath his suit. His tie felt like it was strangling him. Then John moved his thumb toward Brian’s balls, massaging them roughly, and it was enough. Finally, mercifully enough. Brian choked back on a cry as he came, John pulling out of him at just the right moment so that he spilled his come on the couch.

John left the room as Brian sat there, and if Brian weren’t so exhausted he would have been angrier. Still, he loosened his tie and was about to chide John for his behavior when he heard water running. John came back into the room, rubbing a rag against the hand he’d used on Brian.

Brian sighed and closed his eyes as John sat next to him. Brian tensed for some smart comment, and when it didn’t come he opened his eyes and was ready to go to the watercloset himself when he looked at John’s face. The smug smile and the mischievous raised eyebrows were gone. In their place, John’s bottom lip was pursed in concern. He’d turned from the spoiled prince to a naughty boy prepared to get in trouble.

“What is it?” Brian asked.

“I, um …” John sighed. Then he frowned, looked ready to say something nasty again, but then he was back to being almost sad. “Ye know I think you’re my friend, right?”

Brian sighed. He knew all about this, but didn’t like when John brought this up. “John, I remember how it is. I know you’re married after all.”

John shook his head. “No, I don’t mean all that rubbish. I mean, ye know I don’t mean it all, right? Ye know I’m fond of you.”

 _Oh_ , Brian realized, _that_. “Yes, I … I know you don’t mean those things you say.”

“Good. Just … just making sure,” John said.

Brian tried to be happy as he cleaned himself up. _Fond of you_ , he said to himself, repeated it in his head over and over but he knew he couldn’t make those words mean precisely what he wanted them to mean. Yet John had been trying to be kind, and he did appreciate that.

When he came out of the shower he found John sprawled out on the sofa, his limbs thrown about haphazardly like a child plopped down on among his things in the nursery. As Brian took out a coverlet and covered John with it, he reminded himself that John’s words were as much a lie as the image he’d had of John earlier as a spoiled prince.

Sometimes, however, he thought as he turned off the light, he preferred the illusion.

The End.


End file.
